


Bechophy and the Air B&B Pulp Mystery

by BeaRyan



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: 4 chapters in 4 days, F/M, Lester Dent, M/M, Multi, Mystery, Pulp story, They get a dog, Writing practice, an unnamed rando is harmed, like really heavily drawing attention to itself language, stylistic choices in language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-03-26 11:33:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19004944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeaRyan/pseuds/BeaRyan
Summary: Story:  Bellamy, Echo, and Murphy stop at an Air B&B on their way to a wedding, but it looks more like a crime scene than a cozy place to spend the night.About:  Using the Lester Dent Pulp Method.   Complete.  A pulp / noir  mystery with heavy use of stylized languge.  A little darker than Scooby Doo and not quite ridiculous enough to be a true crack fic.





	1. Chapter 1

“Bellamy!” Murphy stuck his head out of the bedroom he’d just entered. “Are you sure this is the right place?” 

“Address matches the website and the key was where the owner said it would be. Why wouldn’t it -” His words cut off as soon as he got a glimpse of the bedroom. Dark red droplets splatted the wall. Anyone who’d ever seen a crime show would call it cast off from an assault. 

Echo slipped into the room beside him and the three surveyed the mess. In addition to the splatters on the paint, there was a similar stain on the bed cover. The top of the dresser had be swept clean, knocking a few trinkets to the ground. Signs of a struggle were obvious to anyone willing to see them. 

The three exchanged glances. This roadtrip was the only time off they’d get all year. A run in with the police might make them late for Monty and Harper’s wedding. If the police searched the SUV and found Bellamy’s weed, Echo’s weapons, or whatever anarchist emergency supplies Murphy was no doubt carrying they’d be a lot more than just late. 

Echo spoke first. “The owner hit his head and went to the hospital. That’s not a fatal amount of blood and it's not in the hallway or any of the other rooms we've seen.” 

Bellamy looked poised to say something else, something honorable and likely to start trouble. 

Murphy stepped closer to him. “The last sign of civilization was outside of Kansas City about 90 minutes north of here. If the police turn this into an investigation and take over the house then once they let us go we need to drive 90 minutes back up the highway tonight and then we add that time on to our drive tomorrow.”

Bellamy roughed a hand over his beard. There was no real evidence of anything except bad housekeeping. “I’m taking a star off the rating of this place for dirty linens.” 

Echo said, “Take off one more for vermin. I heard toenails on the hardwood floors coming from the back of the house.” 

Murphy asked, “Where’d you find this place?” 

Bellamy headed towards the back of the house to see how badly maintained their rental was. In truth, he was a little relieved that there was confirmation that the place was a dump with a careless owner rather than a crime scene. 

Echo rested a hand on his arm. “Be careful. Raccoons can carry rabies.”

“It sounded that big?” 

“We might be safer sleeping in the car.” 

“Let’s see how bad it is.” 

From the pictures online, he knew the room off the kitchen at the back of the house was a sunporch, once open to the elements but enclosed at some point so that it could be used year round. He also knew there was a dog door leading into it. Best case scenario, a dog had used it. 

Nothing about this trip or this house led him to expect a best case scenario. 

He slid open the pocket door and slipped into the room. Streetlight and moonlight filtered through the trees and the windows illuminating patches of the cluttered space. He saw the movement before he heard the noise. Matted fur surged towards him, yipping. Small feet on surprisingly strong legs shoved at his thighs. If he went down there was no telling what would happen next. 

“Who’s a good boy? Is it you? Are you a good boy?” The gitchy-goo tone of Echo’s voice did more to throw him off-center than any of the other weirdness he’d encountered tonight. The pressure on his legs relented as the creature moved to her. Her hands stroked the dog’s filthy fur and odors best left undefined rose as she disturbed the muck. 

Murphy refused to even enter the porch. “You know you’re rubbing your hands in dogshit, right?” 

Echo shrugged. “It’ll wash off when I give him a bath. Poor little guy had diarrhea and couldn’t make it outside.” 

Bellamy kicked at the dog door. “He was locked in.” 

Only because he’d known her so long could Bellamy read the expressions that flashed over Echo’s face then disappeared as quickly as they’d come. The sequence resolved an issue and created a problem at the same time. There was no way he would ask the owner to come over tonight and clean up the porch and bedroom. The man probably wouldn’t survive the encounter. 

Murphy watched it all unfold. Echo’s softness and subsequent murder plans. Bellamy’s Echo management. The dog crap that covered both of them where the mutt had desperately sought help, attention, or just a sucker to spoil him. Me too, he thought. Me too. “Why don’t you two and Fido shower off the feces? I’ll go grab dinner for the four of us from the store.” 

“The four of us?” Bellamy asked. 

“Sir Poops A Lot there needs to eat, too.” 

The upside of spending the night in Carbone, population 300, was that their rental wasn’t far from the store. The downside was that “the store” was the gas station. It only took a minute for Murphy to review their dinner options and select the frozen pizza rather than the frozen burritos or the rotating hotdogs of uncertain age. 

As he reached for the door of his SUV, a hard shove slammed him up against the metal and made him drop the bag with his frozen pizzas in it. 

A voice, thick and gravelly like he smoked a pack a day then gargled rocks, rumbled in his ear. “I know you’re in cahoots with Mahon.” 

Murphy rested his forehead against the door. If it weren’t for the word cahoots he’d be waiting for the Deliverance style banjo music to start, but clearly this weird fuck was a different kind of weird fuck than the stereotype about rural Kansas would suggest. 

The wanna-be old timey gangster prodded Murphy in the back with what was clearly a finger rather than a gun. God damn bored locals. 

Murphy worked up as much speed as he could in the small space, clamped his hand around Bugsy’s bait and tackle and gave it hard twist. The man crumpled, but Murphy didn’t let go. Instead he stepped backwards, forcing them both away from the car, and didn’t stop moving until the truckstop troll tripped over the curb. 

Murphy released him then took a good look. Tall, gangly, about 17, and probably bored as hell when he wasn’t acting like an idiot. Murphy gave the boy some advice, “Fuck off,” then grabbed his pizza boxes and headed back to the rental. 

Blood, dogshit, and a cahoots-ing mugger. Could this night get any worse?


	2. Chapter 2

The sun rose and the smell rose with the temperature. 

Murphy staggered towards the kitchen and tried not to trip on the dog. “Move furball.” 

He got a nose in the crotch as an answer. 

“Not the face I want between my legs, Fido.” 

Echo handed him a cup of coffee as he collapsed onto a barstool beside the kitchen counter. If she was feeling any effects from their late night she was masking it well. “What do you think about keeping Fido?” 

“Are you kidding?” 

“Bellamy can’t get the owner on the phone and we can’t just leave him locked in the house.” 

“You want to take a dog with the trots on a seven hour drive?” It was an insane plan, one too lacking in reason to come from Echo. This had to be a Bellamy original. 

As if sensing that he’d been summoned, Bellamy appeared. "Fido's stomach seems to have settled, and we can’t just leave him here in the filth with no one to feed him.” He rested a firm hand on Murphy’s shoulder and involuntarily Murphy leaned into the touch. 

Realizing his mistake, his weakness, Murphy stood up and crossed the room to the window. “Maybe the owner is just ducking you.” 

They traded uneasy glances. They had agreed last night not to call the police. There was a difference in that stance and being confident everything was ok and Fido’s owner would be back and ready to care for the pup he’d already neglected.

The glass in the window shattered, spraying inward as Murphy fell. His head slammed against the counter on the way to the floor, and his field of vision narrowed before it all went black. 

Bellamy knelt beside him, checking his pulse and breathing, while Echo made her way to the window. 

Echo peered over the sill and whispered, “Status?” 

“Head wound. Looks like he hit it as he fell. There’s a hole in his jacket but no blood.” 

Echo glanced over her shoulder. “Bullet or it’s time to demand he get new clothes?” 

Bellamy gave her a “not now” look and Echo took that as clearance to spring into action. She heard Bellamy’s voice call her name as she sprinted through the house and out the door. The man she’d spotted holstering a gun was now in his car and about to escape. Unacceptable. 

Old habits die hard and going out unarmed was a life adjustment she’d never felt the need to make. The only question was where to land the three knives she had ready to throw. The first went in the rear tire. The second went through the open window of the driver’s door. She’d never know if he swerved because the knife through the window made him jerk the wheel or if the deployed airbag slamming in his face distracted him, but the bastard planted the grill of his car in the mailbox of the house across the street. 

He deserved worse for hurting Murphy and he was going to get it. 

She crossed the street and jerked open his door just as the owner of the house came out to investigate the noise in her front yard. 

Twenty barking pounds of fur and teeth shoved past Echo's legs and clamped itself on the driver’s hand. 

“Fido, no!” she ordered half-heartedly. If there weren’t witnesses she’d let the good boy chew on the bad man for a while. 

The owner of the house, a woman who radiated unearned superiority, had made her way to the car and gave orders as if she expected Echo to care. “Lock up that dog. He’s a biter and needs to be destroyed.” 

Echo pulled Fido off of the driver and cuddled him in her arms. “You know this dog?” 

“I know Cage is a good person and he’s been bitten.” The homeowner turned her attention to the driver. “I’ll get some medical supplies and a rope for the dog from the house. I’m calling the police, too.”

After she’d walked away, Echo cocked her head as she memorized the face of the man who’d shot at Murphy. “Your name is Cage. Why’d you shoot at us, Cage?” 

“I don’t even know you,” Cage answered. 

“No. You don’t. We rented the house across the street for night. Why are you after the owner?”

Cage sneered. “You stayed at his house. You’re his partners, the people he double crossed me with.” 

Echo’s stomach fluttered. Even an incompetent dumbass could do damage under the right circumstances, and betrayal made people mean. 

“This dog is going to die just like his owner. It’s up to you if you join them in hell.” 

Echo didn’t care for the sound of a cocking gun or the glint of sunlight on steel, but the melodrama of it all was what really got under her skin. She let Cage march her across the street with the barrel pressed into her spine, but really, fuck this guy.


	3. Chapter 3

Echo and Cage were already across the street when the woman returned with medical supplies. “Cage! Where are you going Cage?” 

“I’m fine. Just locking up the dog.” 

“Good idea. I’ll send the police to your house.” 

“No! Don’t do anything. I’m coming right back.” Cage pulled open the outer door to his basement and whispered to Echo. “You can walk in on your own or I can shoot you and you can fall down the stairs.” 

Despite an appearance of fitness, Cage was panting like he’d run a marathon. With any luck he’d broken a few ribs. Echo made a guess as to where the seatbelt bruise was blooming on his body and shoved a finger hard against the probable injury. 

Cage winced. 

Echo faked a smile for the neighbor watching from across the street and ran a hand slowly down the dog’s back because this was that sort of ridiculous confrontation and Cage seemed to be into it. Dummy. Like a cat with a mouse between it’s paws she purred, “Just tell me what it is you think I’ve done.” 

Cage grinned. “We’re doing the supervillain thing?”

She nodded.

“I’m really not a bad guy. I just want the diamonds.” 

“The diamonds?” 

Cage leaned in closer. His eyes ripped up and down her body. Disgusting, but she could tolerate it briefly if it gave her information that would help save Bellamy and Murphy. His breath was hot against her skin as he whispered. “That’s all you get.” 

The shove of his hand came as a shock, and when she stepped backwards to steady herself she didn’t account for the extra distance caused by the stairwell down into the basement. With one hand holding Fido against her chest, there was little she could to once she started falling. The door slammed shut before she could grab the railing and fight her way out. From the other side of the door she heard Cage call, “I’m coming, Doctor. Stay there!”

Echo put down Fido and raced up the steps, but the door was barred from the opposite side. With enough time she could break out, but she wasn’t willing to accept that as her best option yet. 

Fido’s whimpering drew her attention to the corner of the dark room. A man was slumped in a chair, held upright by the rope around his chest. The volume of blood on the floor around him suggested he was dead, but she checked his pulse to be sure. Cool skin told her he wasn’t an entirely fresh corpse despite the lack of a smell. Basement lairs were popular with murderous psychopaths for a reason. 

Echo took a moment to steady herself and review what she knew and what she needed to do next. She was locked in a basement with a dead man, probably the partner of the man who had just kidnapped her. The corpse was most likely the owner of their rental house, the man who had locked his dog and her volatile bowels on the porch before disappearing. 

So, item one, Fido was her dog now. Good. 

Item two wasn’t worthy of much thought, but that didn’t make it less true. Cage would kill her if he thought it served his purposes. 

Item three: When he couldn’t get the diamonds out of Echo, Cage would go after Murphy and Bellamy. 

She hadn’t planned to just sit in the basement and wait to die, but once she acknowledged the stakes she had to act immediately. 

A quick survey of the room revealed a steep second stairwell leading into the house. If there was someone there they were about to get their ass kicked. She loaded up with every weapon she could find that wasn’t in the immediate vicinity of the murder. Her DNA and prints didn’t need any part of that mess. A single touch to check his pulse could be explained. Her fingerprints on his neck could be explained, but she wasn’t grabbing anything with his blood on it. In fact, anything she touched was leaving this room with her and disappearing forever. 

With a hammer stuffed into the waistband of her pants and seven screwdrivers hidden around her body, she crept up the creaking stairs. The door scraped against the floor as she slowly pushed it open. The dog didn’t see the need for stealth. He shot past her and ran madly down the hallway of the house. 

Maybe Murphy’s skepticism about keeping Fido hadn’t been all wrong. 

The hallway ended at a cheap wood panel door, and Fido barked at it fiercely, demanding she open it. If there was anyone in the house, unless they were deaf they knew they weren’t alone. 

Echo cracked the door, but before she could assess the threat Fido boltws for the house next door, his house, the rental where she’d stayed last night. 

The dog ran for his doggie door at the back of the house, but it was still locked. Echo scooped up Fido and made her way towards the front as quietly as she could. Murphy was already sitting in the passenger seat of their car and Bellamy was throwing a suitcase in the back. 

Echo said, “We need to go,” as she put Fido in Murphy’s lap and slid into the driver’s seat. When they didn’t immediately respond she barked, “Now!” 

Bellamy looked confused. “We didn’t do anything wrong. We’re the victims.” 

Sirens blared in the distance as Cage stalked across the lawn towards their car.

Murphy asked, “Are you sure we’re done being the victims?” 

Bellamy buckled in. Echo floored it.


	4. Chapter 4

It really didn’t matter what state a state cop worked for, troopers were all the same guy. They might as well be clones even if they looked a little different. This one had a haircut so short it looked like a skin job that was growing out and grooves in the side of his head where the arms of his sunglasses had staked their claim over the years. His uniform had creases so sharp a mannequin would come to life just to be jealous. He glanced over at the three out of staters as the report came back over his radio.

Bellamy sat on the middle of the bench in the rest area adjacent to the highway patrol station with Echo and Murphy on either side of him. Of the three of them he’d had the fewest physical threats to his life in the last 24 hours, but he was taking the threat to his family the hardest. 

The statie walked back to them and eyed Bellamy. “Take the dog for a walk.”

“They didn’t do anything wrong.” 

“I know that. Your dog just looks ready to go and I don’t want to watch.”

Bellamy picked up the end of the rope they’d fashioned into a harness and walked towards the soda machines. 

The cop called after him, “The dog area is to your left. They’ve got some poop bags over there. Clean up any mess he makes.” 

Bellamy nodded and went to the area he now saw was marked with signs. 

The cop asked, “He always such a ball of anxiety?”

“I’ve got a head wound and Echo got tossed in a basement. Mother Hen is taking it hard. Likes to protect the chicks.” 

The officer glanced between the two of them then over at Bellamy in the distance. He didn’t accept that Mother Hen was the right description of Bellamy’s relationship with Echo and Murphy but wasn’t sure how to probe for details. Neither of them volunteered clarity. 

Curiosity was a killer, and the officer wanted them talking. He said, “The dog isn’t chipped or registered. Far as we could find out he’s never been to a vet. He hasn’t been captured by the pound either, so no one has the authority to give him to you or take him from you. So who’s is he?” 

Echo asked, “He’s ours? Just like that?” 

“If you say he’s yours then he’s yours.”

Murphy glanced over at where Bellamy was walking Fido. “He’s ours.” 

The cop knew they weren’t siblings and roommates wouldn't own a dog together. Reluctantly the officer accepted that this was as much information on the which two of the three were a couple that he was likely to get. 

“They found the body in the basement just where you said it would be. Cage owns the house and the neighbor confirmed he was there last night. CSI is checking the crime scene, but they said he’s already started complaining about diamonds. It’s just a matter of time until we get a confession.” 

Murphy asked, “So we’re free to go? We’re trying to get to a wedding.”

The cop shrugged, reluctant to clear them but without grounds to hold them. The three of them watched as Bellamy used a baggie to clean up after Fido then went to the car. Without coming over to them he called out, “The wedding starts in ten hours and we’ve got seven hours of driving left.” 

The officer shrugged. “Don’t speed.” 

Murphy struggled to keep his pace slow as he made his way back to the car. He climbed into the passenger seat and Echo got in the back. 

Bellamy said, “Echo needs to drive.” 

She answered, “It’s your turn.” 

“You’re the steadiest under pressure.” 

She gave him a kiss then climbed into the driver’s seat. If he was mature enough to admit when things were beyond him then she was decent enough to help him through it. 

When they were two miles down the road and certain the officer wasn’t following them, Bellamy leaned forward between the front seats. “Echo, keep it steady, OK?” He took a breath. “I know why the dog had diarrhea.”

Murphy muttered, “Thrilling.” 

“His owner fed him laxatives.”

Echo’s foot stamped down on the gas and her fingers tightened on the wheel. She immediately caught herself and dropped back down to the least suspicious speed, that speed being five miles over the limit. “You found the diamonds.” 

It took Murphy a moment longer for the truth to dawn on him. “The dog ate the diamonds.” 

“Uh huh.” 

“The dog is now shitting out the diamonds.”

“Uh huh.” 

“And we own the dog.” 

“Still right.” 

Silence enveloped them as they contemplated the news. Time would tell exactly how many diamonds the dog had eaten, and between the three of them they had the contacts they’d need to fence them. They’d gotten more than a story and a dog out of their night in Kansas. 

Murphy rolled his head against the back of the seat and his gaze met Bellamy’s. “I’m waiting for it. Some sort of Bellamy wrap up statement. A bit of wisdom or history. A dad joke. Something.” 

Echo offered, “One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.” 

Bellamy nodded. “Good, but I’d have gone with ‘All that glitters isn’t golden.’” 

And at the next truck stop he bought Murphy a novelty t-shirt leftover from St. Patrick’s Day. It was covered in shamrocks and read, “My luck is shit.”

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written pulp before, but I've been reading some lately and I'm a into it. I like language that draws attention to itself. Stories with a personality beyond just the personality of the characters. Pratchett was the master of this. The non-Sherlock stories of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle do it, too. If you have any other authors to suggest I'd love the recs. 
> 
> Comments on this story are welcome, too. Unbeta'd and barely edited. Please let me know if I've got typos or repeats.


End file.
